Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  Morgan shifted position on the griffin’s back so that he could drop his next bladder from the opposite side. ‘Here come the arrows, but good thing we’re out of range. Let’s hit them as many times as we can before they break ranks.’ The Master let go of his second satchel, then reached quickly into the closest wicker basket and selected another.

  After having dropped half their load and caused chaos for the army below, Lachlan kicked Talon in the flanks, sending the griffin off to the other side of the city, where they would repeat their attack. ‘It’s a shame we don’t have Frostbite available,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Imagine how much damage we could have done then.’

  Caspan hung on tightly. Although the ropes were securely fastened around the griffin’s chest, it was frightening riding this high without a saddle, particularly in the dead of night. ‘I know. How long do you think it will be before I can summon Frostbite again?’

  ‘I’d wait at least a week. Wardens recover fast, but you’ll want to give him as much rest as possible.’ The Master tapped Lachlan on the side and pointed to one of the towers at The Hold that they were heading towards.

  Lachlan nodded and steered his griffin further to the left, bringing them around the citadel. Once Morgan had informed Prince Dale and Duke Bran of his plan to attack the Roon, word had quickly spread about the Brotherhood’s magical guardian and how they’d intended to put it to effective use. Soldiers atop the battlements waved their swords at them and cheered as they flew by.

  Caspan smiled proudly. ‘If nothing else, we’ve given the people of Darrowmere hope that not all is lost.’

  Morgan reached behind and patted him on the thigh. ‘That’s the spirit. Now, let’s see if we can cause even more damage.’

  Lachlan brought Talon around to the southern side of the city and set his griffin hovering in position. Caspan and Morgan got to work, organising the next batch of satchels. They had only dropped two each, causing pandemonium in the army below, when Lachlan moved Talon to the left, allowing them to attack another section of the Roon horde. He craned his head to the side and stared at the blazing fires. ‘Morgan! We have a problem!’ he called suddenly and pointed. ‘What’s that?’

  Silhouetted against the fires, a massive shape shot towards them. It resembled a gigantic eagle, with a wingspan the width of a house, dagger-like talons and a curved hunting beak, which glistened an ominous blood-red.

  Morgan tossed aside the satchel he was holding. ‘It’s a roc! Get us out of here. Now!’

  Lachlan kicked his heels hard into Talon’s flanks, and the griffin raced across the night sky, away from Darrowmere. Holding on tightly, the wind ripping at his cloak and roaring into his ears, Caspan peered fearfully over his shoulder at the creature chasing after them.

  This was the first time he had ever seen a roc, and he hoped it would be the last. He’d heard that the Roon stole them as chicks from nests in high mountain peaks in the Wild. They were exceptional, instinctive hunters, and the Roon trained them to kill prey such as wolves, elk, snow panthers and mammoths. Rocs were also incredibly fast and could match the speed of the mountain eagles they often hunted for sport. Much to Caspan’s alarm, the roc coming for them was also faster than Talon.

  ‘It’s gaining on us!’ he yelled, trying his best to ready his bow and an arrow. It proved too difficult to nock the arrow to the string, and he bundled his weapons together in one hand and held onto one of the ropes wrapped around Talon with the other.

  Lachlan gave Talon another series of hard kicks and cracked the reins, urging his griffin to fly faster. ‘I’m doing the best I can, but we’re carrying too much weight.’

  Morgan looked over his shoulder, noting how quickly the roc was approaching. ‘We can’t out-fly it, but we can outmanoeuvre it.’ He drew his dagger and severed the wicker baskets, freeing Talon of some excess weight and allowing him to fly more easily. He scanned the land below and pointed at a nearby forest. A dark line indicated where a trail bore into it. ‘Quick, Lachlan. Head in there.’

  Lachlan hunkered down against Talon’s neck, a signal the recruits had developed during their training sessions for their Wardens to descend rapidly. The griffin responded instantly, giving a final beat of his wings, then tucking them against his sides and diving. They had practised this move many times, but never before had they performed one that was so steep.

  Such was the speed at which they moved, Caspan felt as though his stomach was left behind as they rapidly shot downwards, forcing him to lean back and hang on for dear life. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the roc, now only twenty yards behind, dive after them.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ Lachlan cried, urging his Warden into an even steeper descent, until they were almost vertical.

  The ground came rushing up towards them. Just as Caspan was about to cry out for fear of crashing into it, Lachlan pulled hard on the reins, drawing Talon out of the dive. Caspan felt his stomach rise all the way to his throat. The griffin’s claws brushed through the grass. The Warden then shot through the air, flying only a few yards above the ground, which became a blur of movement beneath them.

  The forest drew closer with each passing heartbeat. But so too did the roc. It swooped down behind them, folded its wings against its flanks and tucked its feet under its body, streamlining itself to take full advantage of the momentum it gained from its descent. In direct contrast, Talon beat his wings furiously, pushing himself forward at an incredible speed. But still it wasn’t enough to out-pace the roc. If Talon didn’t make it to the forest in time, it would all be over.

  Closing the distance to its prey, the roc bared its talons in anticipation of its kill. Nearer and nearer the gigantic eagle approached, until it was within striking range. Morgan somehow managed to draw his sword and twist around to face the beast.

  ‘Get down!’ he barked at Caspan, who ducked as low as he could, giving the Master room to wield his blade.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Caspan saw the roc come alongside them. It stared straight at him, sending shivers of pure terror down his spine, then reared its head abruptly and opened its beak wide.

  Caspan cowered as far as he could to the far side of Talon. Morgan drew back his sword to swing at the gigantic eagle. The roc lunged, its beak coming straight for the Master.

  Lachlan pulled Talon sharply to the left, avoiding the roc’s attack, its beak crunching together only a foot away from Morgan’s head. Almost dislodged from the griffin’s back, Caspan and Morgan cried out in alarm and clung tightly to the ropes. Somehow, miraculously, they managed to hold on.

  But the roc wasn’t so lucky. Having been so focused on its fleeing quarry, it hadn’t paid attention to what lay directly ahead. It gave a high-pitched squawk as it ploughed straight into the forest. There was an incredible crash as branches and trunks were snapped in two. For almost twenty yards the great beast tore through the trees, ripping and smashing everything apart, before all went deathly still.

  Flying along the edge of the woods, Morgan and Caspan stared at the black scar created by the impact. But nothing stirred in the darkness.

  The Master sheathed his sword and placed a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. ‘You can ease up now. I think we’ve seen the last of the roc.’

  Lachlan exhaled deeply in relief and pulled back on the reins. ‘That was too close for comfort.’

  Morgan shifted around to look at Caspan. ‘Are you okay?’

  Caspan stared blankly at the Master, struggling to comprehend that they had survived the encounter. It was some time before he nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He pointed an accusing finger at Morgan. ‘But I’m never accompanying you on any peaceful missions north ever again. I don’t think my heart can cope.’

  Morgan grinned. ‘You don’t join the Brotherhood to water plants. Now you know what a mouse feels like when it gets chased by an owl.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ It was only now that Caspan realised that he had somehow managed to hang on to his bow and arrow. He slung them over his shoulder, the
n glanced back to check that the roc had not emerged from the forest. Seeing no sign of the great bird, he turned to look at his friend. ‘That was some great flying, Lachlan.’

  Morgan patted the muscular boy on the shoulder. ‘I’ll second that. You did remarkably well.’

  Lachlan returned their praise with a proud smile. Hugging Talon around the neck, he whispered, ‘We both did remarkably well.’

  The companions made it back safely to Darrowmere. Morgan was keen to equip new baskets of oil-filled bladders to Talon’s side and to launch another series of aerial attacks, but they had barely landed in the city when horns bellowed all around the battlements. The soldiers who had rushed over to greet them with a chorus of cheers fell ominously silent and raced back up the stairs to take their positions along the parapets.

  Morgan nodded grimly. ‘It’s begun.’ He motioned for Caspan and Lachlan to join him in a recess beneath the wall, where they could talk in private. He placed his hands on their shoulders and stared into their eyes, as if to instil in them the courage for what lay ahead. ‘Remember what I told you – no heroics. Keep your heads down, watch each other’s backs, and do exactly as I say. There are no second chances in the thick of battle. Do you understand?’ His voice was sombre, heavy with the experience of one who had seen combat before.

  The boys nodded, and Caspan swallowed nervously. He’d seen plenty of action in his life, too, but nothing on this scale. Street-fights hardly compared to the siege of Andalon’s most heavily fortified city.

  Morgan squeezed their shoulders gently and breathed in deeply. ‘Good. Now let’s find a safe spot on the wall.’

  Lachlan dismissed Talon before following Caspan and the Master up onto the battlements. Free to choose a position of their choice, they selected one of the corner towers. It rose higher than the neighbouring walls and had a stone ledge equipped with machicolations, or murder holes, through which nearby stores of boulders and pails of boiling pitch could be dropped on attackers.

  Caspan and Morgan pushed in amongst the defenders on the wall and readied their bows. There was a slow hiss of steel as Lachlan drew his bastard sword from the scabbard strapped across his back, then pressed up against Caspan. They stared out at the Roon army.

  Some of the defenders had shot incendiary arrows, which stuck upright in the ground, lighting the area outside the city walls. The giants had stamped out their torches and had formed themselves into ranks: those equipped with shields, swords and axes in the front rows, followed by a few ranks of spearmen and archers at the rear. Moonlight glistened off the Roon’s pale chests, accentuating their muscles. They had smeared charcoal over their faces, giving them a nightmarish appearance. Hammering the butts of their weapons against their ovoid shields, the giants created a deafening clamour that sent panic rippling through Darrowmere’s defenders. Caspan shuddered.

  The soldier closest to him stepped fearfully away from the battlement and lowered his bow. ‘We can’t face that!’ he stammered.

  ‘We can, and we will!’ a tall, barrel-chested soldier barked. He had the look of a veteran warrior, his face and forearms covered in scars. The haft of the two-handed axe gripped in his hands had a line of horizontal notches just above the leather grip, and Caspan wondered if this was a tally of the soldier’s kills. The tall soldier shoved his companion back into line and projected his voice so that his fellow defenders could hear. ‘We will hold this wall and cut down every Roon that comes near us! We are men of Darrowmere, and we won’t let any of those giants enter our city.’ He thrust his axe above his head. ‘For Darrowmere!’

  Every soldier who heard these rousing words raised their weapon in turn and repeated the cry. Like a wave, it spread across the entire first wall, and was echoed at each concentric battlement. Horns sounded and banners bearing a stag’s antlers – the symbol of Lochinbar – were held high. Their spirits lifted, the soldiers gripped their weapons determinedly and girded themselves for the ensuing siege.

  Lachlan glanced at Caspan. ‘Scared?’ He lowered his voice so that none of the nearby soldiers nor the Master could hear.

  Caspan was trying his best to ignore the churning nervousness in his stomach. He notched an arrow and tested his bowstring before nodding at Lachlan. ‘You?’

  Lachlan’s chin sank to his chest and he exhaled slowly. ‘Terrified.’ He looked up at Caspan, then smiled and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll watch your back.’

  Caspan smiled in return and was about to respond, when a tremendous war-cry rose from the ranks of the Roon. Still hammering their weapons against their shields, they charged towards the city.

  The defenders readied their bows, took aim and shot. The hiss of several hundred arrows in flight momentarily drowned out the roar of the charging Roon. This was soon followed by the thwack of the arrows as they embedded themselves in wooden shields, and the curses and cries of the giants as they were hit by a feathered storm of death.

  After the initial volley, the archers shot at will, picking off their targets with precision. Many of the giants were killed or injured, but for every one that fell, a dozen more trampled over the fallen, determined to reach the wall.

  Fifty yards from the city, the foremost of the Roon stopped and formed a shield-wall, from behind which the rest of the giants amassed and shot a constant stream of arrows. The soldier on Caspan’s right staggered away, clutching the feathered shaft that punched through his shoulder. Caspan braced himself against a merlon and nocked his third arrow. He took a steadying breath and drew back the bowstring. When it was at full tension, he stepped away from the protective merlon, aimed at a giant and shot. Standing at the rear of the army, well away from the cover of the shield-wall, the Roon dropped his spear and fell to his knees, grasping the shaft lodged in his thigh.

  ‘Nice shot,’ Morgan commended, setting another arrow to his bow and taking aim.

  Caspan ducked as an arrow ricocheted off the battlements. He shook his head despairingly. ‘There are too many. We’ll never stop them!’

  ‘Just keep shooting. It’s our only hope.’ To add credence to his words, the Master picked off one of the front-rank giants with a direct shot to the chest.

  For almost ten minutes the archery battle continued. Runners hurried along the wall, distributing bundled stacks of arrows to the defenders. Caspan had gone through his third pile, when the Roon started to trudge forward, their shields still raised and overlapping at the sides, forming a moving wooden wall. The archers advanced with them, pinning down the soldiers behind the battlements. Soon, sections of the shield-wall parted, and lone giants hurled axes and spears through the breaks. Before the men of Darrowmere could target these attackers, the gaps in the wall quickly closed, the defenders’ arrows wasted as they thudded into the shields.

  The Roon stopped only thirty yards from the city. They gave a final, ranged attack, then dozens of giants, clad in wolf-skins and smeared in red war-paint, charged from their ranks.

  ‘Berserkers!’ cried a soldier near Caspan.

  The defenders focused their shots on the fanatical giants, who raced to the base of the wall and hurled grappling hooks up to the battlements. Some soldiers drew daggers and set about severing the ropes, but this was dangerous work as it left them exposed to the Roon archers, who picked many of them off. It was also too risky to lean through the crenellations to shoot down at the berserkers. The safer option was to hurl boulders and release buckets of boiling tar over the wall. It was even safer atop Caspan’s tower, where they dropped these through the murder holes.

  Having never really been proficient with a bow during their training sessions, Lachlan hurried back and forth between the machicolations and the boulders piled in a far corner of the tower. He was assisted by the veteran warrior with the notched axe and several of the men who had been distributing the arrows, and together they maintained a steady barrage of rocks falling on the giants.

  Distracted by the berserkers, the people of Darrowmere had failed to noti
ce the makeshift ladders – felled trees with handholds made of severed branches – being brought forward from behind the shield-wall. A warning horn sounded from somewhere further along the parapet, alerting the soldiers to the new threat.

  ‘Focus your arrows on them!’ Morgan cried, pointing at the giants carrying the ladders. ‘Don’t let them get near the wall.’

  The soldiers atop the tower did as instructed, taking down all the Roon carrying the ladders closest to them. But other sections of the wall weren’t so lucky. Struggling to keep the berserkers at bay, the defenders failed to stop many of the ladders from coming forward.

  Morgan cursed under his breath as the first of the ladders was hoisted against the battlements, down near the city gates. He tapped Caspan and Lachlan with his bow. ‘We’ll be much more needed over there. Follow me.’

  They bounded down the flight of stairs from the tower, then shouldered their way past the crowded parapet. Knowing they could never use their bows in such cramped conditions, the Master and Caspan slung them across their backs and drew their swords. Lachlan took the lead and, using his height and powerful build to shove a path through the throng, eventually led his friends over to the parapet atop the city gate.

  Defenders were trying desperately to move aside the ladders, but they were too heavy and the angle at which they’d been positioned made this impossible. Other soldiers were hurling boulders and shooting arrows at the giants that swarmed up the felled trees. But there were too many of them. Caspan knew that it would only be a matter of time before the Roon reached the battlements.

  ‘Watch my back,’ Morgan commanded. Straddling the merlons, he stared down at the approaching giants and readied his blade.

  Caspan and Lachlan did as instructed, and it wasn’t long before the Roon had climbed up the ladders. Morgan met the first of the giants with a thrust of his sword, killing him before he had a chance to ready his weapon. No sooner had the giant tumbled from the ladder than the one beneath him drew his great, double-headed axe and hurried up the last few rungs.